


Vodka, Schnapps & Orange Juice

by Pearlybj



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Gratuitous Smut, Incest, M/M, Posting a krimbo fic on VDay, Stridercest - Freeform, sue me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 10:42:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13568916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearlybj/pseuds/Pearlybj
Summary: Alternately titled: All Striders get Coal this Year (and every year after)John brattily demands Everything for the holiday.---He sighs long and deep into the ocean air. His eyes are fixed on yours, owlish and unblinking, as he says, “Alright. You've made it hella clear tonight that you don't like the way things are, and you were willing to do something drastic to change it. So I will too. No more bullshit. I'll hit the dating scene once I have time- after we finish production in a year and a half. I'll be dry as a nun until then, strap on the chastity belt, lock me in my bedroom and pull the shotgun on any boys that try to sneak in my window.”You’re hyper aware of the way your dress slides up as you stretch, bringing your lips to his ear. “It doesn't have to be like that.”





	Vodka, Schnapps & Orange Juice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Clamdiver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clamdiver/gifts).



Are you certain you want to do this?

  


You can still back out.

  


...Any time now.

  


Please?

  


Earth to John Strider.

  


Oh, for heaven’s sake, you’re going to do it anyways, aren’t you?

  


Of course. You refuse to fold to the doubtful eyes looking back at you from the mirror. They’re a brilliant gold tone, easily the most striking part of what you’d otherwise consider ordinary looks. Well, a little less ordinary today.

  


You became fed up with your guardian’s antics ages ago. The contrarianism he lauds like a religion, his insistence on presenting an over-masculine front, his unwatchable movies. It was after a recent request of his that you finally caved.

  


_ Hey, lil’ man. Got a Christmas party coming up with the movie crew. Lotta big name actors are attending- you can’t miss it. The event is eighteen plus, but Lalonde can sneak you and Rox in. Just be chill when you’re talking to the guests, alright? Chill as a popsicle in November. Oh, and pick out a rad sweater to wear, something ugly, but not too ugly. Don’t want anyone to think you’re putting too much effort into the ironic holiday garb. Achieve the perfect balance, and you might be able to pick up a date or two. You know you're charming enough for it. _

  


You are so done. From here on out, you’re going to meet his insincerity with gushing genuineness, his raps with well crafted sonnets, his testosterone bullshit with softness and femininity. You're going to reveal all your hidden thoughts and frustrations to him without holding back.

  


...You might be overdoing it, though.

  


Your reflection dons a red dress lined with white fur and thigh length stockings. The whole ensemble is so short, you get a flash of the matching panties every other step. That was already pushing the line before you roped Roxy into the endeavor as your stylist. She managed to pull your messy locks into a romantic sweep and wove in mistletoe. Showing off a surprisingly steady hand, she finished off the whole thing with reindeer-themed makeup. The person in the mirror looks completely foreign to you, someone honest-to-god pretty.

  


Bro is going to murder you if the shock doesn’t kill him first.   
  
You consider this a win.

  


Aunty Lalonde gives you a carefully arched brow but keeps her true opinion behind an impenetrable wall. She makes you put a coat on to ward off any chill but otherwise fulfills her role as smuggler without hindering your efforts to stump your guardian.

  


The event is hosted at a private club, clearly an expensive place considering its location on the shore. Best you can tell when you pull up, the back door opens straight to white sands and good times. A salty breeze curls around the club’s sides, easing some of your nerves.

  


Aunty is with you through the doors but no further, making a beeline for the bar. You cling to Roxy as the impact of your choice really sinks in. People keep looking at you, and not how they usually do. Their eyes are curious, skeptical, and more often than not  _ hungry, _ the sort of look reserved for prime rib after days without food.

  


You say as much to Roxy.

  


“Ur a top cut, Johnny, got all that swigger fittin’ a Strider. Alleast ten o’ them celebs we walked by’d hit u up for a fun night. Can't promise they know ur a guy though.”

  


You blush. “You think so?”

  


“Know so! ‘Cause one of ‘em’s me, lol.” She winks and elbows you.

  


You elbow her right back. “You're a celebrity now?”

  


“Hush ur tush; tha’s no way to woo a girl. Act like u knew all along.”

  


“Right, right.”

  


The two of you make your way through the thick crowd. You try to keep an eye out for Bro, but the loud music and all the faces you recognize from the other side of the screen are distracting. Following your partner’s lead, you talk with a lot of strangers and dance. Roxy manages to get her arms around you, accepting no protests.

  


No wonder the short dresses are so popular. It's hot and humid in the club, but the low coverage from your clothing keeps you cool. Still, you admit you're feeling extremely exposed. More often than not, when dancers bump into you, your bare skin connects.

  


You’ll never know if it was the atmosphere, the spicy beverage Roxy handed you, or the wanting looks that got to you; you start to hold yourself a bit differently. All the hesitation is gone, replaced by a popped hip and batted lashes. It wouldn't be off to describe your expression as sultry.

  


One particularly excited spin carries the two of you by a small group of people. Suddenly, Roxy let's go of you. Momentum brings you to a halt right in front of  _ him. _ He’s seated on a sofa, wielding some bright red monstrosity of a cocktail like it's a knife. You’ve always thought he looks stunning in formal wear, delectable even.

  


Oh shit, you aren't ready for this confrontation at all.

  


That heated expression you'd been making freezes on your face, and you can't seem to remember how to remove it. You're perfectly still as he looks you over.

  


“Hello there, sexy. Can I interest you in a drink?”

  


You blink, confused. He's never used anything remotely like that flirtatious tone with you before. It burns right through you and gathers in your gut. Thoroughly embarrassed, you attempt a sheepish smile and little wave. Somehow, the gesture looks graceful from the outside.

  


“You might know me; the name’s Strider, David. Just tonight, you can call me whatever your little heart desires. And what does the little miss go by?”

  


Holy fuck, your Bro doesn't even recognize you.

  


Your own Bro.

  


What an utter asshole.

  


“Hey, no need to be so shy. Why don't you take a seat?” He has no qualms about shoving the man next to him-  _ holy shit, _ that's one of the lead actors for the upcoming  _ Interstellar _ \- and sidling over to make room for you.

  


You are  _ not _ going to pass up on this opportunity, no matter how stupid your guardian is being. Just,  _ Interstellar, _ fuck. The title has been a topic of interest ever since Bro snuck you a copy of the script. Hesitantly, you sit.

  


It doesn't escape you that you're humiliating yourself in front of one of your favorite actors. You shrink back a bit, curling into Bro to hide. Your vision is filled by his flashing green tie threaded with Christmas lights. 

  


His hand finds the exposed skin between your stockings and undergarments, abort, abort, abort.  _ Shit,  _ Bro must be overheating in that red suit of his, because you suddenly feel too hot and tight even in your dress. That drink he offered you is sounding real good right about now.

  


You curl your fingers around his and bring his cocktail to your lips. It tastes like cinnamon, but a bit stronger. Bro watches your throat bob as half of it disappears. That didn't help in the slightest; you're feeling even warmer and a bit bubbly.

  


You wouldn't mind if he eyed you like that more often.

  


“It's my favorite niece! Sup, Rox?”

  


The girl stumbles into your general vicinity, and Bro offers her the only greeting he ever deemed adequate: a fist bump.

  


“Heeey, Mr. Strudel. U gettin a bit cozy there? Checkin out my handiwork, real hands-on like. Sum nice makeup, yeah?”

  


Bro doesn't quite catch on. “Yeah, you look nice. Hey, have you seen the J-man anywhere? I want to introduce him to my friend here.” He waves at the actor. His other hand is still on your thigh. The damned man never was afraid to get a bit touchy feely with the ladies in front of you and your cousin.

  


Somehow even more embarrassed than before, you attempt to smile at Roxy. It comes out as a grimace. Looking startlingly like her mother, she raises a brow, giving you a skeptical look.

  


“Duh, I kinda dressed him and brought him ta the partay. U messin’ with me, Mr. Stride?” She pokes you with a toe, returning Bro’s attention to you.

  


“Ah, excuse me, Rox. This little deer is- I didn't actually catch your name?”

  


“Ur shitting me?!” Roxy starts laughing, long and loud until she's doubled over. It seems she's about to stop, then she catches another glimpse of Bro, and her guffaws are renewed. You groan and bury your face in Bro’s shirt, an old comfort. This was going  _ nothing _ like planned.

  


Bro attempts to quell her mirth. “Hey, we were just getting to the introductions when you walked over.” He at least has the decency to look sheepish and move his fingers to your waist. They fit nicely in the little dip there.

  


Roxy’s grin holds no mercy. “Yeah, u were gettin  _ reel _ acquainted; I saw everything.” She turns toward the actor. “Say, ur working on that film Johnny’s been going on about,  _ Interstella? _ Any chance the set is open for sum behind-the-scenes action? A visit would make a great Christmas gift, aye Mr. Rider?” She prods Bro and sloppily winks at you.

  


Bro has to offer a sweet deal to persuade him, but eventually the actor agrees; he can make arrangements for a personal friend.

  


You remember your goal of bringing down your guardian with sincerity. Whipping out your most honest, beaming smile, you lean around Bro, and say, “Thank you  _ so _ much, sir, really! I'm a huge fan of yours.”

  


The moment it clicks, Bro turns bright red from neck to ear- you've never even seen the guy blush before. He starts choking on his own spit and outright drops the cocktail; it shatters against the tile. Roxy nearly steps in it, she's wobbling so much through her giggles. The actor looks confused. 

  


Of course Bro recognizes your voice. Even if he isn't always around, he's your guardian. 

  


He manages to force out a hesitant, “John?”

  


You dutifully ignore him, opting to continue gushing, “All your 90s titles are awesome, super exciting- and the more recent pieces are absolutely hilarious. I love your delivery! I'm really looking forward to this current production.”  _ Suck it, Bro. _

  


You slide into Bro’s lap so you can better address the other man. It's been years since you've sat together like this. 

  


The shock and the flush fade, replaced not by the anger you were expecting but… fear? His face loses its color. Suddenly, he’s wrapped around you;  _ oh god, that's your ass. _

  


He scoops you up. You're pressed to his chest as he carries you through the crowd, nearly running. You'd expect he was taking you out back to kick your ass if it weren't for the visceral fear coming off him in waves.

  


You're out of the club, and now he’s actually running, across the beach. He doesn't stop until the two of you are tucked behind a rocky outcrop. The rest of the world is cut off. It's just you and Bro, jagged stone and smooth waves, an infinite grey sky.

  


He clings to you, breath heavy in your hair. He's shaking.

  


“Bro?”

  


He sets you down and leans back. His face is half-lit by the glow of the city. His strong grip engulfs your shoulders.

  


Goddamn, you're going to have sand in the cursed panties.

  


You try to apologize, “I’m sorry? I didn't expect you to be so-”

  


“Are you okay?” Bro discards his glasses so he can get a better look at you. He prods you all over, searching for any sign of damage. Then, he catches your chin and holds your gaze. “Did anyone hurt you? Were you harassed? If they threatened you, I'll slit their throats, I swear.”

  


“I'm fine, jeez! If anything,  _ you _ were too friendly, but otherwise people have been super nice.”

  


“Oh, thank gog.” You find your face pressed against his dumb Christmas tie. This hug is less shaky, more solid. He's warm. “I'm glad you're alright, kiddo.”

  


The last thing you were expecting was this unguarded display of emotion from your stupid hipster of a brother. “Is this… really that bad? I thought you'd be mad at me, but…”

  


“I'm not mad, fuck. Just overreacted a bit. That's all. As long as you're okay, everything else is fine.” He gives you a gentle squeeze. “I keep forgetting we aren't in Texas anymore. Different place, different time. Used to be, a guy’d get stabbed for dressing like that.”

  


“Yeah, but,” You wave your hands about in a nondescript way, “I’m kind of small?”

  


Bro pokes your stomach. “These do come in bigger sizes. They also sell them long enough to cover your rump.”

  


“That’s not what I mean!” You tug on your hair, trying to find the right words. For once, your guardian is patient enough to wait on you. “You go on and on about this tough guy thing of yours. I’m so tired of it! That was the whole point of me doing this. You can’t just tell me everything is fine.”

  


“Just did.”   
  
You slug him in the shoulder. “Shut up, Bro. Were you seriously worried I’d get attacked? I’m a little… smaller than you?”

  


“We just covered that, kiddo. You fit real nice into these skimpy lil’ outfits. Real nice.” 

  


“Oh my god, Bro.” You kick him. “Roxy said no one could tell? She did all this fancy makeup for me, so I really don't think anyone noticed I'm a guy, let alone got stabby.”

  


He outright snorts. “Did Rox tell you that before or after you raised the little flag?”

  


“Oh my god.”

  


“You were showing a bit. Seems you enjoyed getting felt up.”

  


_ “Oh my god.” _

  


“Not that I was looking. Didn't happen.” After a pause, he adds, too casually, “Tell Rose about the flirting, and I will cancel those Christmas plans, no movie set visit, send all your gifts back. Hell, Christmas will be canceled. Kids across the nation will be in tears. Do you want to make kids cry, John?”

  


“No! I won't tell, man. Just shut up and focus for like five seconds, please? You can be such a jerk, ugh. I can't believe you didn't even recognize me.” You pause and gather yourself before asking, “If you noticed, why were you still flirting?”

  


He just looks at you, face perfectly blank. “What?”

  


_ “My dick, you absolute dick.” _

  


His expression doesn't change; he doesn't even blink. Sometimes you really hate him.

  


“John, I like guys. I'm bi.”

  


Oh.

  


“Since when? Is this a new thing?”

  


He cuffs your ear and parrots back,  _ “Is this a new thing. _ You know better than that, kiddo. Old fashioned, Texan charm to woo the ladies and a little extra spice and muscle for the gentleman, but never coming off as too serious about it; makes it easy to switch tactics midgame without causing alarm. Exactly how I taught you. That's the whole point.”

  


You’re about ready to tear your hair out, or at least tear the leaves from your hair. “There was a point?! I just thought you were a giant douchebag.”

  


He has the nerve to look a bit sheepish, “Well, glad we cleared that up. Can't leave my name buried in slander, let you know how rad your Bro really is without the dirt-”

  


“If you were doing all this on purpose, you're even more of a douche. And your parenting is poopy.”

  


You're pretty damn sure his wince is completely genuine. He tries to argue, “Hey, I realize things have gone about as smooth as a bird's butt, but I've been successful so far. You're so damn polite, you have good friends, you don't get bullied like your old man did-”

  


You know he's building up to a real monologue and interrupt him, “Still poopy. This disaster of a night is the most time you've spent with me since I broke my leg.”

  


“Your birthday-”

  


“You and Aunty were dumb, drunk butts; doesn't count. I want you to pay attention to me, spend just this one holiday with me, okay? Forget the networking you have to do.” You're still not used to being so open; you blush as you admit, “You haven't taken your eyes off me all night. I really like that.”

  


He tries to deflect. “Gonna attract a lot of attention when you're smokin’ hot, fresh off the grill. Just a burden we Striders have to bare.”

  


You don't let him distract you. “Stop pretending you're a real parent. You're awful at it.”

  


“More of a brother anyways-”

  


“We’re not really brothers either.”

  


“Ouch.”

  


“What's it like to kiss a guy?” Suddenly, you have no idea where you're going with this, as shocked by your own question as Bro is.

  


“Same as smooching a hot babe, mad fireworks exploding in your gut like twelve day old sushi, can hardly sit still with that feeling threatening to break free.”   
  
“Gross! Is kissing girls really that awful?”

  


He looks surprised a second time. “Haven't you ever-”

  


“Nope! And now I don't want to, ew.”

  


Bro rolls his eyes. “It’s not bad, great even, honest. Your first kiss will be just fine.”

  


You shrug your jacket off. “Promise?”

  


“Sure-”

  


You kiss him.

  


It's short; he scrambles back, right into the water. Still, you kind of see what he meant. Just the light contact left butterflies in your stomach, and you feel like giggling.

  


In fact, you do. “You're gonna ruin your tie!” Before he can get it wet, you steal it. You have to sit on his legs and wrest the snake-thing from his neck, but you manage.

  


In the process, you manage to soak your lower half. The water isn't bad- unusually warm and only a few inches deep here- but you're still freezing your toes off. You snuggle up to Bro for heat, sprawling against his chest.

  


Oh so eloquently, he asks, “Fuck was that? I'm not- fuck.”

  


Another kiss is dusted across his cheek. “Is this okay?”

  


“Of course this ain't okay, I’m your- fuck, your hands are cold, stop that.”

  


“Awww, Bro. It's Christ Mas. You're supposed to give me everything I ask for.”

  


“This ain't something you can ask Daddy Christmas for.”

  


You press, “Why not?”

  


You already gave a rebuttal for the first two answers he thinks of. He tries a third. “You’re a spoiled runt, you know that? Way too young.”

  


“Pffft, you're the one that spoiled me, and we both know you've done younger.” You pull a reasonable impression of the starlet that was in your apartment when you woke up the day after Halloween.  _ “Ooh, Mr. Strider. You’re such a talented producer. Surely you have a few other talents? I'd love a private demon stration.” _

  


He shoves you, though just lightly enough to put you face-to-face with him. “Shut it, kid. Never happened.”

  


“Man, it so happened. You're gonna get arrested one of these days. Then I'd have to go live with Aunty Lalonde. What a cruel fate. Don't do that to me, Bro.” More seriously, you say, “Really, it should stop. The way you talked to me when you thought I was a total stranger was super uncool. Roxy would say sleazy?”

  


He looks ready to argue, but he doesn't. “It was pretty fucking uncool, wasn't it?”

  


“If anyone else treated me like that, you'd cut them into pieces!”

  


“Yeah. Sorry, kiddo.”

  


You stick your hand in his face. “So no more sleeping around. Pinky promise!”

  


“Sure, sure. Nothing more contrary to the image of manliness than a blood pact sworn on our tiniest digits.” Only after he clutches your fingers together does he ask, “Wait, at all?”

  


“Of course.”

  


He protests, “Hold on now. Adults are another matter entirely.”

  


“Too late! You already promised. No being a big jerk, only a nice boyfriend for you.” You stick your tongue out. He pinches it.

  


“Come on, John. You understand how it is. There are certain things I still need to unwind, and I already have trouble making enough time for you without adding a steady partner on the side. That's the whole reason I haven't dated in the past sixteen years. Trust me, I’d love to if I could make it work, but you come first. You always have.”

  


You have to swat at him to reclaim your tongue, then take another minute to gather your thoughts. His cologne mixes pleasantly with the smell of sea spray and… you know exactly what you're trying to ask him now, just not how to word it.

  


Determined, you tell him, “I want to be your most important person.”

  


“You are-”

  


“Show me, then.”

  


He sighs long and deep into the ocean air. His eyes are fixed on yours, owlish and unblinking, as he says, “Alright. You've made it hella clear tonight that you don't like the way things are, and you were willing to do something drastic to change it. So I will too. No more bullshit. I'll hit the dating scene once I have time- after we finish production in a year and a half. I'll be dry as a nun until then, strap on the chastity belt, lock me in my bedroom and pull the shotgun on any boys that try to sneak in my window.”

  


You’re hyper aware of the way your dress slides up as you stretch, bringing your lips to his ear. “It doesn't have to be like that.”

  


You feel the shiver as it runs down his spine, hear it in his voice. “No?”

  


He let you farther inside his stoic mask tonight then he ever has before, but you don't intend to stop yet. You whisper a simple command, “Love me.”

  


He scrambles for words, something- anything to restore the status quo, but even the talkative man doesn't find them. When he leans into you, you know you've won, you've broken him completely.

  


His arms snake around your shoulders, squeezing you to him once more. “Of course, John. Whatever you want, just say the word.”

  


His words encourage you, brushing away any concept of restraint. You tilt your head and fit your lips against his. He neither pulls away nor responds, letting you move at your own pace.

  


You stay close enough for him to feel the shape of your words. “If you need to unwind, I'm right here.”

  


At that, his mouth opens to you, tasting of gingerbread and lust. Knowing he desires you is enough to set your insides on fire. You explore past his lips and brush against his tongue. You aren't sure what you're looking for until you find it: a sweet spot on his palette. When you lap at it, he breathes in sharply and grabs your hips, pulling you flush against him.

  


You wrap your legs around his waist, dipping your toes into the water. Being able to draw that reaction from him is deeply satisfying. You wander over his neck, looking for other sweet spots.

  


There's one, the soft skin above his collarbone. As though you hit a switch, he starts mumbling. You can't make out any words, but his tone is soft and warm. It's so silly, so  _ Bro, _ you can't help but laugh and kiss him again, letting loose the affection you were always told should remain guarded. Being open is nothing less than exhilarating.

  


His words become coherent. “C’mere, kiddo.”

  


The dress has slipped up enough to expose your tummy. Bro takes advantage of that by tickling you. You’re laughing twice as hard now and kicking your feet enough to splash him. “Ehehe- cut it out!”

  


He only relents when you tug on his ear. Though he stopped tickling you, his hand remains in place, brushing against the edge of your undergarments.

  


Flushing, you tell him, “You can have me any way you like.”

  


Though it's a line Bro taught you himself, it works like a charm. His fingers slip past the silk and find your most sensitive skin. Lord, it feels so good, so much better than anything you've done to yourself, and he's just teasing at you. If you weren't hard as granite before, you are now.

  


Eager, you fumble to pull the garment all the way off. Without thinking twice, you drop the panties in the water and advance on your next target. Your hands are clumsy like you've never seen a belt before. You get his fly open but not much farther. You're still sitting on his legs, fixing his pants in place with your own weight and,  _ fuck, _ you need him right now.

  


He shushes you. “Relax, kitten. Let me take care of you.”

  


You recognize that line too. You'd expect yourself to be put off, but the words shoot straight down your spine to your cock. His forwardness, knowing he fully intends to sleep with you,  _ oh. _ Your thoughts lose coherence, drowned by hormones.

  


Gently, he lowers you to the sand. The sudden water on your back shocks the buzz from your mind. Your own hesitation comes back but… you really want this. You want to be enough for Bro, and you want to burn all this tension built up in your limbs, let it out just this once. Your eyes jump between his and the starless sky as you think.

  


He notices your expression. “Hey, you sure you’re okay with this?”

  


“Shoot now, ask questions later. That’s what you always tell me.” He intends to treat you better than his usual one night stands. Of course he does. He’s your Bro.

  


He feigns a laugh, but it dies in his throat. “That’s real goddamn awful advice. Sorry.”

  


Hearing him finally admit it sates your lingering concerns. “I know,” you say. Wanting to break the tension, you decide to try another line, one he wouldn’t even use ironically. “You could make it up to me. What are you doing tonight, besides me?”

  


That gets a real chuckle from him. “I’m in the mood for fine dining. Can I take you out? You meet the reqs of hella fine.”

  


“Pffft. Only if you buy me some peach schnapps and vodka. I’m a little more  _ thirsty _ than hungry.”

  


Bro recognizes the line you set up, and his expression changes, two shades anticipation and one shade feral desire. “Add orange juice, we can make it sex on the beach.” He leans in real close, unbuttoning his dress shirt.

  


Your answering grin is all euphoria. “Mmmm, I think that’d be great... that is, I mean-” You’re too flustered to come up with another line.

  


He fills one in for you. “Not a drink you’ve tried before? I’ll make sure to mix it up real well, so you have a good time. Only the best for my sweet, little deer. Merry Christmas. I love you.”

  


Wait.

  


_ Never say you love your one night stand; that's just cruel and cheap, got it kid? _ It was a point drilled into you. It doesn’t fit in with the pickup lines and smooth talk at all-

  


He isn’t doing this just to indulge you tonight.

  


You pull him down on top of you and kiss him. He huffs but kisses back. You lift your legs from the grasp of the ocean and return them to their place around his waist. This time, your unclothed cock rubs against his bare midriff. Both of you are getting wet, saltwater dripping from your limbs and precum from your core. Bro swishes his hips. The gesture has his abs rubbing against you and hffff, what were you thinking about again? Doesn’t matter, this is heavenly. Hellish? It’s the sweetest of blessings or the hottest of sins: you don’t have a thought left to decide which.

  


Bro massages your ass. He’s more than experienced enough to move his hands, hips, and tongue at the same time, leaving a panting mess underneath him.

  


He stills when his fingers reach your rim. He starts to ask, “Does this-“

  


You interrupt him, “Please, fuck, I want- hff- Bro, I’m so worked up right now, please fuck me.”

  


Bro is more than happy to oblige. He starts with his hand. A slick finger slides in you. Damn, you knew from watching him work with set pieces that he could oil himself up in less than a second, but you didn’t even see him grab any lube. It’s impressive and, aaaah fuck, Bro needs to do whatever he just did to your butt again, fuck.

  


Getting taken care of- laid down and opened up- takes more effort than you thought it would. You’d be sweating if not for the waves. Bro doesn’t seem to mind the state you’re in. On the contrary, he says, “I must admit, I’m real glad you didn’t take my advice on the ugly sweater. You look so hot like this, been hiding a keen eye for style, know exactly how to get me going, I’m feeling hella lucky I was the first person to pick you up tonight, sure you had some good fucking options, wow. Bet you could’ve gotten that actor to sleep with you, do a 180 for preference. I would’ve if I were him, ‘cept I’m not him, and I’m already knuckle deep being me.”

  


You can’t help your breathy laugh, vaguely wondering if this is the real reason he only does one-nighters. He just keeps rambling. It might be a turn off to someone else, but his voice is soothing in your ear. His words don’t stop even when he pulls his hand free of you.

  


The man tears open a condom and slips himself out of his boxers. You don’t give him time for any nonsense, tightening your legs around him. Without thinking about your words, you’re talking over him. “Please, oh man. Bro, that was s-so nice. Do it again. Do- do me,  _ aaah~” _

  


His hand is replaced by his hips. He rolls against you, easily lining you two up without any guidance, and presses down. That’s it. You’re entirely gone.

  


You feel him in you, in again, and in again, oh so hot. You don’t hear the desperate sounds you’re making or his quiet words. The waves rolling over you and the smell of salt are a distant memory. Everything is that delectable feeling until you’re coming against his abs. Sensation rushes back in, and Bro is saying your name, giving you encouragement and praise. You honestly have no idea when he finished, but he slips out of you, and the condom he tosses aside is full.

  


The older Strider hugs you to him. Between the exposed emotions and physical exertion, you’re left quaking but thoroughly satisfied. A long exhale leaves you. It wasn’t Bro that needed to unwind, it was you. You were on edge before, so tense from all the frustrating exchanges with this man. Not anymore; this was a victory for you.

  


There are still things left to sort out, long conversations the two of you will have to have, but the idea seems less taxing when Bro can hold you like this at the end of the day. He’s big and warm, soothing as cocoa on a cool day.

  


Not warm enough to ward off the entire ocean. Before long, you start shivering.   
  
Bro lifts you from the water, princess style. “Alright, let’s get you dried off.”   
  
The man hesitates. “John, any chance you’re hiding your panties up your sleeve?”

  


“No?”

  


“Think the tide might’ve carried them away.”

  


_ “Oh my god.” _

  


“It’s fine, we can- shit- wrap your jacket around your waist or something.” Bro groans. “Fuck, we might have to sit out here til we’re dry. It’ll be real obvious we got up to shit otherwise.”

  


Your teeth chatter. “C-can’t we get Aunty to dr-rive us home?”

  


“Oh, hell no. She’ll never let me live it down if she- oh, jegus christ, she already knows.”

  


“What?!”

  


Bro gestures to the craig sheltering you two from the rest of the world. Perched on the top are a set of towel rolls sporting a bouquet of white lilies and sweet peas, plus a set of fresh clothes from each of your wardrobes.

  


You groan. “She didn’t have any flowers when we left, and she’s been drinking since we got here. How?”

  


“She’s a demon,” Bro provides. His tone betrayed his gratitude for the gift. The press would eat up any post-sex shots they could get of Dave Strider, and his current film isn’t far enough along in production to benefit from the rumors.

  


As is, you and Bro were able to sneak back home for a movie and video games. It’s exactly the holiday you were hoping for, made all the better by the excitement and butterflies left over from your evening. Sometime past three, you nod off against his shoulder. You’re carried to your bed and kissed good night, with promises of more attention in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Ty for reading! Have a good one - PBJ


End file.
